[Whether or not it would be more beneficial to him, Shinjiro was certainly expecting the escalation to match his own. Aki would've punched him in the face by now, and Kitsuragi maintaining his calm feels a lot like swinging a punch and missing himself, stumbling forward with momentum that suddenly has nowhere to go.
What's left of the anger from that momentary outburst fizzles without further fuel, and Shinjiro's quiet as he struggles to find his balance in this conversation again. It's strange to be understood yet not, but there's something distinctly comforting about I won't try to convince you otherwise. Do what you must. Usually, when people don't understand, they're upset about it. Aki tried to change his mind for two entire years, had punched him in the face over the suppressants. Kitsuragi would not to try to stop him from fading away, and it's a relief, in a weird way. He's grown weary of hurting people around him because they simply cannot let him go.
But Kitsuragi is alive, and so is Amada, and that's where the gap lies between them, ultimately. Taking it a day at a time is what he's been doing, until now, but he hadn't had to worry about the end of that road because he wasn't about to let anyone else join it with him. Amada is different, an exception. He has no right to deny the kid anything. Yet, it feels unconscionable to simply carry on as though he won't inevitably be hurting the kid--just as how he could never simply "get over" what happened with Castor, could not take the chance it could ever happen again, no matter what. That's the part that nobody understands, not Kitsuragi, not Don, not Aki. He's as alone as he's ever been in bearing that weight.
He sighs. The lack of sleep is wearing on him, at this point. If he drags this out much further, he does risk just crashing out here, and the thought of waking Kitsuragi with his night terrors again is desperately mortifying. He should go, soon.
Shinjiro scrubs at his face, and after a long moment, he finally says:]
The guy whose place I've been stayin' at...he disappeared months ago. Still dunno what that means for us, exactly, but best case scenario'd be throwin' us back where we came from, and -- well. Time's already gone on for the kid. There's not gonna be any miracle second chances, here.
[For much of the conversation, he's avoided the older man's gaze, but here, at last, he looks up properly, right at him.]
...I ain't exactly lookin' for you to convince me life's worth livin' or some shit, Kitsuragi. I respect that you haven't tried, honestly. But I don't think you believe in false hope, either, in lyin' to yourself or anyone else. So just answer me this: if you knew the end was coming, probably sooner than later, would you put people through losin' you? More than once, even?
[ No miracle second chances? Some would argue that this is a miracle second chance, though Kim would personally disagree with them. As second lives go, this is not one worth living. This isn't life. No wonder many - including Aragaki - wondered if this was purgatory, at the beginning, because it certainly doesn't even remotely resemble anything he would consider a life worth living. What he does consider this, however, is as proof of concept. If this place is capable of bringing people back from the dead, then that means that other places likely are as well. And when it comes to where they go when they disappear from this place... Kim prefers to believe that they go home. It's the most palatable option to him. But it also seems like the least likely one as well. ]
Mmh, well. I don't know many people that would.
[ Be put through losing him, he means. He says it baldly, without any particular emotion; it's not something that makes him sad. It's simply statement of facts. He's grown distant from old friends, old flames, enough that if they heard of his death, they would be briefly saddened, but that's all. His occupation is as such that his death is likely, a when, not an if.
The Detective would be sad, he supposes. He tries to imagine it, this reality where Harry had lost him once, and in this place, would inevitably have to leave him again. He takes a long moment to answer, clearly putting serious thought into the question, as challenging as he finds it. ]
I suppose... I would not have the heart to part from them. Though, not necessarily because I would think it was the best course of action. [ He thinks, briefly, of people he's lost. If Dom came here... if Dom came here, Kim would stop at nothing to see him, even if he was faced with the other man's righteous, rightful fury. Thinking about it makes something in him ache. He's certain that this kid Aragaki is talking about feels the exact same way; there's likely something in him that's just desperate to do enough here to gain some sort of absolution, some sort of closure. ] But because if I myself had a chance to see people I've lost, even for just one day? It's something I would fight for. So I don't believe that I would deprive others of the same. But that's just me.
[ Whatever Kim thinks Aragaki should do, it truly has nothing to do with the kid's well-being. It's Aragaki's own well-being he has in mind. He's not convinced that mending ties with the kid is for the best, really. The only thing he really wants is for the man in front of him to find some sort of equilibrium, some space in which he can stop torturing himself. ]
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What's left of the anger from that momentary outburst fizzles without further fuel, and Shinjiro's quiet as he struggles to find his balance in this conversation again. It's strange to be understood yet not, but there's something distinctly comforting about I won't try to convince you otherwise. Do what you must. Usually, when people don't understand, they're upset about it. Aki tried to change his mind for two entire years, had punched him in the face over the suppressants. Kitsuragi would not to try to stop him from fading away, and it's a relief, in a weird way. He's grown weary of hurting people around him because they simply cannot let him go.
But Kitsuragi is alive, and so is Amada, and that's where the gap lies between them, ultimately. Taking it a day at a time is what he's been doing, until now, but he hadn't had to worry about the end of that road because he wasn't about to let anyone else join it with him. Amada is different, an exception. He has no right to deny the kid anything. Yet, it feels unconscionable to simply carry on as though he won't inevitably be hurting the kid--just as how he could never simply "get over" what happened with Castor, could not take the chance it could ever happen again, no matter what. That's the part that nobody understands, not Kitsuragi, not Don, not Aki. He's as alone as he's ever been in bearing that weight.
He sighs. The lack of sleep is wearing on him, at this point. If he drags this out much further, he does risk just crashing out here, and the thought of waking Kitsuragi with his night terrors again is desperately mortifying. He should go, soon.
Shinjiro scrubs at his face, and after a long moment, he finally says:]
The guy whose place I've been stayin' at...he disappeared months ago. Still dunno what that means for us, exactly, but best case scenario'd be throwin' us back where we came from, and -- well. Time's already gone on for the kid. There's not gonna be any miracle second chances, here.
[For much of the conversation, he's avoided the older man's gaze, but here, at last, he looks up properly, right at him.]
...I ain't exactly lookin' for you to convince me life's worth livin' or some shit, Kitsuragi. I respect that you haven't tried, honestly. But I don't think you believe in false hope, either, in lyin' to yourself or anyone else. So just answer me this: if you knew the end was coming, probably sooner than later, would you put people through losin' you? More than once, even?
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Mmh, well. I don't know many people that would.
[ Be put through losing him, he means. He says it baldly, without any particular emotion; it's not something that makes him sad. It's simply statement of facts. He's grown distant from old friends, old flames, enough that if they heard of his death, they would be briefly saddened, but that's all. His occupation is as such that his death is likely, a when, not an if.
The Detective would be sad, he supposes. He tries to imagine it, this reality where Harry had lost him once, and in this place, would inevitably have to leave him again. He takes a long moment to answer, clearly putting serious thought into the question, as challenging as he finds it. ]
I suppose... I would not have the heart to part from them. Though, not necessarily because I would think it was the best course of action. [ He thinks, briefly, of people he's lost. If Dom came here... if Dom came here, Kim would stop at nothing to see him, even if he was faced with the other man's righteous, rightful fury. Thinking about it makes something in him ache. He's certain that this kid Aragaki is talking about feels the exact same way; there's likely something in him that's just desperate to do enough here to gain some sort of absolution, some sort of closure. ] But because if I myself had a chance to see people I've lost, even for just one day? It's something I would fight for. So I don't believe that I would deprive others of the same. But that's just me.
[ Whatever Kim thinks Aragaki should do, it truly has nothing to do with the kid's well-being. It's Aragaki's own well-being he has in mind. He's not convinced that mending ties with the kid is for the best, really. The only thing he really wants is for the man in front of him to find some sort of equilibrium, some space in which he can stop torturing himself. ]